Page 25

JACK

In a blink of an eye, my first three weeks being back home have passed me by, and it already feels like I never left Milwaukee in the first place, like I wasn’t gone for those eighteen months.

Between my shift rotations, therapy sessions, spending time with my mom, hanging out with Emerson, catching up with Luke, and moving into my new place, the time has gotten away from me.

And waking up this morning, I feel a little lighter than I did yesterday.

A pattern that started up a few days ago—one I hope doesn’t go away.

Since my humbling breakdown in the parking lot at the station with the chief after my even more humbling panic attack in the field, I’ve started therapy.

I’ve been going twice a week since the day I promised Chief Sanders I would call.

It’s been hell, to say the least, but I’m still alive—I honestly didn’t think I would make it through talking about Bennett, but now that I’ve started, it’s like I can’t stop.

My first session, we didn’t even talk about the night he died.

To be honest, in the last six sessions, that hasn’t even come up.

We’ve spent a lot of time talking about who Bennett was and the friendship we had.

I didn’t realize how much I’ve avoided thinking about all the good, happy memories from the last thirty years because I’ve been too stuck on moving on.

And I didn’t flip the table when I heard the stupid fire/grief analogy—turns out, it makes more sense to me than any of the other shit Dr. Ramos has said about grief suppression, post-traumatic stress, and emotional avoidance and its ties to toxic masculinity.

“This is the last time I move these damn boxes,” Emerson says, coming up the stairs of our mom’s basement with a cardboard box of my things, setting it down on the hardwood floor.

“I second that,” Luke echos from where he’s waiting by the front door, ready to take the box to my truck.

“As far as I know, this is my last move for a very long time,” I tell them.

The property my mom’s neighbor was looking to sell ended up being a deal I couldn’t pass up. Having money saved up from living with Bennett the last couple of years, I put in an offer Mr. Lenard couldn’t say no to.

“Where’s this place again?” Emerson asks, pushing the box with her foot toward me.

“About ten minutes from here. Down the street from the station,” I answer, picking up the box and walking it over to Luke.

“That’s not too far from me,” Luke says as I hand him the box.

“Your apartment with Ben was so much further, so I didn’t get to see you guys that often.

” He looks over my shoulder to Emerson. “Any more boxes?” he asks her, and the way he goes from talking about his brother to something else so naturally hits me right in the chest.

While my therapy sessions have allowed me to think of Bennett without feeling the need to bang my head against the wall to stop my thoughts from spiraling so tightly that I can’t see straight, I’m still caught off-guard by how casually Luke can bring him up in conversation.

Aside from my therapist, I still can’t bring myself to talk about Bennett with anyone.

“That was the last one,” she answers, wiping her tattooed forearm across her forehead, her cheeks pink from going up and down the stairs with all the boxes. Luke gives her a nod, heading out to my truck.

My sister looks at me. “I gotta admit, I’m surprised you're putting down roots.”

“Thought I’d take off again?” I’ve thought a lot about our conversation at the dinner table my first day back, and it’s one of the many things my therapist likes to revisit at our sessions, in between talking about Bennett or strategies to handle the panic attacks that surface when I have to go into the field.

We haven’t been called to many fires over the last three weeks, and the ones we have were controlled with no danger to anyone in the vicinity.

I’ve yet to freeze up like I did that night of the barn fire, and Chief Sanders put me on exposure protection—protecting nearby buildings from catching fire by cooling them with water—which allows me some distance when we get called to fires.

“So you admit that you ran when you went to Grandpa’s cabin?” Her hair is pulled back in a bandana aside from her bangs, all her tattoos on her arms, neck, and chest on display in her black tank top. “I never thought I’d hear you own up to it.”

I shrug. “I admit that I needed space to process it all, but I can also admit that I didn’t do much processing while I was up there.”

“And what about now? You’re processing?” she asks. Even though she’s my younger sister, Emerson has always been a caretaker by nature. Having had to help me take care of my mom throughout the cancer and remissions, she’s learned how to care for others from a young age.

“I’m doing my best.” It’s the only answer I’m capable of giving right now, and it’s a better one than saying “I’m fine”.

Even though there’s a long road ahead of me when it comes to working through my grief and my own PTSD from how Bennett died, I feel like I am doing my best. I’m not hiding from the emotions or trying to push them down.

Granted, staying busy helps, along with the early morning workouts and long work days that help me sleep through the night.

Emerson nods. “So the therapy seems to be working?” She rolls her lips together as she fights a knowing smirk—one that has I told you so written all over it.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” The smirk now in no way hidden but on full display. “I’m just happy to see you like this.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like yourself. I know losing Bennett felt like losing part of who you are, but he wouldn’t want his death to take all of you away from the rest of us.”

Emotion clogs my throat.

Emerson isn’t one to get sentimental—she’s not afraid to tell it like it is, but I think she learned early in life to tamp down her emotions, especially when she knew my mom didn’t like to see her upset throughout her cancer fight.

Conversations with her like these always go straight to my heart, knowing that talking about feelings and emotions isn’t the easiest for her either, both of us having our own resistance to it for differing reasons.

I take a step toward my sister. Words fail me, so I grab her arm, pulling her into a hug—one she takes a second to reciprocate, but after a moment, I feel her arms wrap around my waist.

“Now,” she says, pushing away from me and adjusting the bandana in her hair, “you owe me coffee. I didn’t move all your shit a second time to not get compensated for my hard work.”

I shake my head, fighting my own smile.

“Once again, I second that. And I know a really awesome place,” I hear Luke say behind me, coming in through the front door. “It's on the way.”

“Oh, and I bet your new friend is working today,” Emerson teases before turning to Luke. “Is Rumi working today, Luke?”

Luke and Emerson exchange a look that has too much scheming for my taste, but I choose to ignore it and not engage with their antics.

It’s been three weeks since I saw Rumi—not that I haven’t thought about her, seeing as though she’s been a constant in my mind since the moment I saw her again.

But today does seem like a great day to rectify that.

“Why, yes, Emmy. I do believe Rumi is on the schedule for this morning,” Luke says, his tone way too exaggerated for my taste.

“Stop being fucking weird,” I say to the both of them.

“I barely know the girl.” The words leave a bad taste in my mouth, but I don’t want Luke or Emerson thinking anything is going to happen between Rumi and me.

I have my own shit to deal with, and I don’t want her anywhere near it.

She has her own life—her own daughter—to be concerned about, not my bullshit.

“But you want to,” Luke sing-songs, and I want to punch the grin off his stupid face.

Both Emerson and Luke know about the burnt cookies fiasco as well as my morning fixing Rumi and Ava’s door, but I kept the stories short and to the point, leaving out details that could cause them to act like this .

Not that there are any details that are worth discussing.

“She really is a great girl,” Luke adds. “A resilient little thing too. I don’t know all the details, but I know she hasn’t had it easy.”

I nod my head, feigning indifference as he talks about Rumi—on the inside, a swell of possessiveness overwhelms me at the thought of someone else knowing her better than me.

It’s a completely moronic and inappropriate feeling sweeping through me—especially considering Luke is my friend and her boss.

It makes me clench my fists at my sides, quickly putting my arms around my back before Luke or Emerson can notice.

I don’t know how much Luke knows about Rumi’s accident, but I know neither him, nor Emerson, know about my involvement with it, or that I was on my way home when I came across it.

As far as everyone knows, I never even thought about coming back before I did.

Which also means that neither of them know that tomorrow marks one year since that night.

“I heard it’s her daughter’s birthday tomorrow,” I hear Emerson say, and I have to school my features to hide my surprise that she knows that. I must not do it fast enough because she adds, “I was at Hey Honey’s last week, and the red-head?—”

“Ava,” I interject. Emerson eyes me wearily, and I feel Luke’s eyes on me too, but I ignore both their looks. “Her name is Ava.”

“Right,” she says, stretching out the word. “ Ava said they were planning a birthday party for her at the end of the month.”

I nod, still feeling their eyes on me. “Cool,” I say, and even I can hear how hard I’m trying to stay impassive to all of this. “Anyway, we have a coffee run to do. Let’s go, kids,” I quickly add, walking past the two of them out to my truck.

“Eager now, are we, Jacky?” Emerson says from behind me, and I can hear Luke snort.

“Are you riding with me or Luke?” I ask her, not bothering to turn around, knowing she’s just a step behind me.